Rivals of Fortune / The Impetuous Heiress (35 page)

Until now, added Alicia.

“Right.” Roddy glanced at the pair again. “Seem to be picking up where they left off, eh?”

“She married in a fit of pique,” murmured Alicia. “I daresay she was sorry at once.”

“From what I've heard of Cairnyllan, she ought to have been,” replied Roddy bluntly. “Was, in fact. Do you suppose she'll get Bentham this time? He's being dashed attentive.”

“Oh, don't be vulgar, Roddy!” He stared at her. Alicia, half surprised at her own reaction, looked away. “It is such a romantic story. Why spoil it?”

Roddy continued to stare. He was finding the girl he thought he knew quite incomprehensible. “Are you going missish on me, Alicia? You've never talked such rubbish in your life.”

He was right, she knew. In the past, she would have laughed with him at the revival of love in middle age, and assessed the chances of a renewed match. But somehow, after talking with Lady Cairnyllan at Vauxhall, she felt protective of her. And a flood of gossip might well wither the budding romance if Sir Thomas heard it. He was known to be a very proud man. Alicia shook her head at her thoughts. What had happened to her? All her feelings seemed oversensitized. She followed her familiar routine, but it now seemed peopled with new creatures both more complicated and more vulnerable than before.
Was
she growing missish? Or had she been somehow blind before? The thought made her shiver.

“Cold?” wondered Roddy. It was a balmy day, and Alicia wore a pelisse.

“No. Oh look, there is Emma. Pull up beside her.”

He did so, and they were at once diverted into discussing Jane's and Willie's wedding plans once again. Emma had just come from the Sheridans' and had new information. Alicia gratefully subsided into silence, leaving Roddy to engage in a spirited exchange about Jane's fortitude, which Emma stoutly defended. The world had not suddenly changed, Alicia mused. This conversation might have taken place last Season, or the one before. It must be she who was altered. And only one person could be responsible: Ian MacClain. She felt a flash of hot resentment. He had swept into her life, rejected her with contempt, and now apparently transformed her in some mysterious way. It was intolerable! Why had she insisted upon helping him with his sister?

But this brought back thoughts of her talk with Marianne, and with Lady Cairnyllan earlier. It had nothing whatsoever to do with
him
, she concluded. She was merely making amends for a mistake that might harm a charming girl who had done nothing to her. Lord Cairnyllan didn't matter a snap of her fingers.

“Alicia. I say, Alicia,” complained Roddy.

She started. “What?”

“Don't you think so?”

“Think…about what?”

Roddy and Emma exchanged speaking glances, and Alicia couldn't help flushing slightly. “I was wondering about the time,” she responded lamely.

“Well, I hope we're not keeping you from something
really
amusing,” replied Roddy, stung.

“No, I didn't mean…that is…” Alicia stopped. She had never been clumsy in her life. What had come over her?

“Don't you think Jane will win out?” put in Emma, moved by her friend's discomfort. “I say she will, but Roddy will not believe me.”

Alicia nodded. “She will.”

“See!” Emma was triumphant “You simply don't understand a woman's methods, Roddy.”

“No, I don't!” he answered, but he was watching Alicia.

“Lord Trehune called while you were out yesterday,” said Lavinia at breakfast. “He was very eager to talk to you.” She was not surprised at Alicia's disinterested nod, knowing the history of his unsuccessful courtship. “I shall go out this morning to buy some lengths for sheets,” she added. Alicia's response was the same, again predictably. But Lavinia had been saving her best gleanings for last. “I spoke to Colonel Parker last evening. He saw your father in Vienna not two weeks ago and reports he is in fine spirits.”

“That's good,” answered Alicia absently.

Lavinia stared. She was accustomed to her cousin's boredom with domestic details and rejected suitors, but news of the duke had always captured her attention in the past. She eyed her more closely. Alicia had a peculiar vacant look in her pale blue eyes, and, though she was as lovely as ever, there was a novel hint of carelessness in her dress. Her sprigged muslin morning gown was perfect, but the usual little touches to complete her toilette were absent. “I am thinking of dismissing Cook,” ventured Lavinia.

“Urn,” was the only response.

Lavinia's eyebrows came together. The Morland cook was universally acknowledged to be a treasure. Several hostesses had tried to lure her away, but she had been with the family nearly all her life and was staunchly loyal. Lavinia would no more think of dismissing her than Alicia would imagine letting her. “The house is on fire,” said Lavinia in a cheerful tone. “And the head groom sent to say that all your carriage horses are down with grippe.”

“Whatever you think best, Lavinia,” murmured her companion.

Another woman would have asked her what was the matter, but Lavinia had developed more subtle ways of dealing with Alicia during the uneasy early days of their association. Alicia refused to be questioned or dictated to, but she could sometimes be made to believe that certain schemes or changes of plan were her own idea. Lavinia had learned to use her considerable intelligence and powers of observation first, then to guide her unobtrusively.

Alicia's continuing strangeness was beginning to concern her. She was not ill, and Lavinia knew of no problem that should make her so different. She had made discreet inquiries among her friends, and found only a mirror of her own mystification. She had one or two thoughts, and now, she felt, the time had come to test them. “Was your drive in the park pleasant?” she began.

Alicia nodded again.

“Roderick was so pleased to catch you. Where had you been calling? I couldn't remember to tell him.”

“I went to see Lady Marianne MacClain.”

“Oh yes. She is a pleasant girl?” Lavinia watched her charge closely, for she had never known her to so distinguish a younger girl.

“She is,” answered Alicia, showing more animation. “Quite unusual, really. I asked her to visit, so you will be seeing her again.”

“Ah, good.” Lavinia calculated, then said, “I have heard the talk about her father. Does Lady Marianne feel it too deeply?”

Alicia laughed. “Oh, no. I don't think she cares a whit.”

“I suppose she is too young to understand.” Lavinia gauged the other's smile. “The mother and brother are more affected, perhaps.”

Alicia's lips turned down. “No doubt.”

Feeling that she was closing on her prey, Lavinia added, “Lord Cairnyllan is a fine figure of a man.”

“I really hadn't noticed,” replied Alicia coldly. She rose. “I must go and get my hat. I am to see the dressmaker at ten.”

“Of course. We will meet at luncheon.”

Alicia swept out, and Lavinia put her chin in her hand. She could scarcely believe it, but all the evidence pointed to the event she had waited and wished for for so long. She had come to Alicia far too late to teach her very much or change her habits. Only one thing, she had long ago concluded, would soften the girl's imperious manner and leaven her fine but slightly selfish character with a dash of humility. Alicia must fall genuinely in love. Lavinia had confidently expected it for years, and been repeatedly disappointed. Now, she was nearly certain the thing had happened. And Alicia was reacting just as she had known she would. Lavinia smiled as she left the breakfast table, and vowed to redouble her observations of a certain Scottish gentleman.

They would make a handsome pair, she thought as she went upstairs. And naturally he would worship Alicia, as what young man did not. It would be such a pleasure to see her charge happily settled, and to return herself to her peaceful former life.

When she entered her bedchamber to fetch her hat and gloves, she answered the chorus of eager greetings with a laugh. “Yes, Bess, Alfred, Boadicca. We will soon go home again, and you will see all your friends we had to leave behind.” She bent to stroke the spaniels' long silky ears, and they romped around her uttering short, sharp barks. “Yes, yes. Harold is there, and Egbert and William Rufus. How happy they will be to see you. And you will have your own house again, just as you used. Do you remember?” Lavinia recalled her extensive kennels with a sigh. She had once been known as one of the foremost breeders of King Charles spaniels, but her stay in London had ended that. Perhaps this time next year, she would be back to it. With a renewed smile, Lavinia reached for her bonnet.

One of the chief events of the Season was to take place that night, a ball given by the Duchess of Rutland. When Alicia and Lavinia met for dinner beforehand, the latter was much more pleased with the results of her day. In the course of a series of errands, Lavinia had spoken with a number of Alicia's friends and acquaintances, and without revealing anything herself, she had picked up a great deal of information. She was now practically certain of her theory, and she had dressed for the ball in a happy haze of anticipation, chattering to her dogs of their fast-approaching departure and contentedly contemplating her cousin's happiness.

Alicia responded laconically to her chaperone's bright flow of conversation. Her day had been wearisome, and she did not expect any particular pleasure from the ball. The dissatisfied expression on her face was at odds with her appearance, for she looked even more beautiful than usual. Alicia seldom wore white; she had not favored it even when first out, and she now felt she was beyond the age of unrelieved pastels. But tonight she had, on impulse, put on a ball gown of pure white, its severe lines unmarked by any trim. It was a dress so simple and unassuming that no one could mistake it for other than the product of the best modiste in London. With it she wore white slippers and one silver bracelet. Around her neck was a narrow white ribbon, supporting a finely etched cameo. The lack of color made the blue of her eyes and the red of her lips and cheeks the more striking, and her silver-blond hair seemed to scintillate in the candlelight.

But when Lavinia complimented her on her looks, she merely shrugged, and she said almost nothing through dinner and the short carriage ride to the Duchess's townhouse.

The ballroom was already full when they walked in. Not even the most haughty of the
haut ton
had refused this invitation, and from all sides could be heard languid complaints about the shocking squeeze, delivered in such complacent accents as to broadcast the speaker's true sentiments. Alicia and Lavinia made their way to a group of friends, but a few moments later the dancing began and Alicia was led away.

The first three sets passed in familiar conversation with partners she had danced with since childhood. But then the orchestra struck up a waltz, and Alicia was confronted by Lord Cairnyllan. “May I have the honor?” He bowed slightly before her.

Without thinking, Alicia gave him her hand, and they joined the dancers, Lavinia smiling happily behind them.

They moved in silence for several moments. Alicia was wondering why she had come with him unhesitatingly, when she had vowed to avoid the man, and Cairnyllan was marveling at the woman in his arms. When Alicia had come in tonight, he had almost gasped aloud at her luminous beauty. All in white, she had seemed the embodiment of feminine loveliness and purity, and he again found it hard to reconcile what he knew of her with this image. He had been drawn irresistibly to her, and had tried three times to capture her attention. But each time another was quicker, and he had been forced to watch her on the dance floor with a London “dandy.” When the waltz began, he was waiting and slipped in at once. Now, so close to her that her mild scent was dizzying, he could think of nothing to say. He didn't want to converse. He wanted to abolish even the narrow distance that separated them by crushing her against him. But the pause was growing awkward. “You visited Marianne, I believe?” he said, and was surprised to hear the coolness of his own voice.

Alicia had been dreading this question. “Yes.”

She
sounded even cooler, he thought, and a spark of quick resentment flared. Why should his mind and his body be in such opposition? This woman had no right to appear so wholly one thing and to be so much another. “I assumed you would keep me informed of your progress,” he added coldly.

Alicia wished herself elsewhere. “Progress?”

“We agreed, did we not, on a
temporary
alliance to separate my sister from Lord Devere?”

Alicia wondered how it was that Cairnyllan had only to speak to enrage her. The tone in which he said “temporary” made her want to hit him. He sounded as if she were an annoyance rather than a voluntary helper. “After having talked with her, I'm not certain we should interfere,” she answered. She had not meant to tell him her true opinion; she knew he would disagree violently, and she was not sure enough of it to make a defense. But as usual, she forgot her calm resolves in his presence.

“I see. And how, pray, did Marianne win you over?”

“She is a very sensible girl!”

“My sister? Say rather that you are easily gulled.”

Alicia's blue eyes flashed. “Does it ever occur to you, Lord Cairnyllan, for even an instant, that someone else might judge better than
you
in certain situations?”

“Naturally, it does! But in the case of my own sister and an unknown Londoner whose standards I know to be lax, I believe I can safely—”

“You pompous, self-satisfied…stick!” Alicia was so angry she could hardly speak; she nearly pulled away from him then and there. But the satisfaction of deserting him in the middle of the dance floor would be dissipated by the uproar it would cause. “If you say another word, I shall scream. And I withdraw my offer to help you. Do precisely as you wish. I shall be the first to laugh when you make a fool of yourself before everyone.” She would become Marianne's friend, she thought, and try to advise her if she needed it, but she would not spend another instant with her odious brother.

“I'm sure you will,” he responded. “It is one of your chief amusements here in town. But as I shall know I am not a fool, it won't signify.”

“I hope your sister
marries
Devere! It would be only your just deserts. And I hope your mother
elopes
with Sir Thomas.” Alicia's temper had gotten the best of her, and she was saying whatever came into her head.

“Do not drag my mother's name into this!” Cairnyllan's eyes blazed so that Alicia almost quailed. “It is obvious that you know nothing of her sort of woman. If you did, you could not have formed such an idea, let alone uttered it.” Cairnyllan's hand had clenched so tight that Alicia had to protest. He released it, but his rage did not abate. From his earliest years, he had idolized his mother. Watching her endure the insults and neglect of his profligate father, he had come to see her as the epitome of pure, long-suffering womanhood. In all those years, he thought, hardly a complaint or reproach. She was above the sordid concerns that obsessed the
ton
. If only he could find another such, he would be content. But he would not find her here; that was obvious. Cairnyllan was completely unaware that a good part of his rage was at this exclusion of Alicia.

Alicia felt slightly repentant. She should not have mentioned elopement. But when Lady Cairnyllan was waltzing with Sir Thomas, in plain view, and nestled very close to him at that, it seemed a bit thick to claim she knew nothing of such feelings. Her expression mutinous, Alicia followed the couple with her eyes.

Cairnyllan, gazing down at her resentfully, glanced in the same direction. At that moment, Sir Thomas bent his head and murmured something in Lady Cairnyllan's ear. She laughed, shook her head, and tapped him playfully on the shoulder with her folded fan.

Alicia looked up, saw the direction of her partner's regard, and suppressed a smile. Really, it was ridiculous. When Cairnyllan made a strangled sound in his throat, she couldn't help but laugh a little.

He glared at her, unable to speak. It seemed to Ian MacClain that his whole world was turning topsy-turvy.

To Alicia's profound relief, the music ended. She slipped away at once and rejoined Lavinia, refusing to care that Cairnyllan remained stock-still where she had left him, his expression stricken.

“Did you enjoy the dance, dear?” asked Lavinia, with a secret smile.

“Hardly. Lord Cairnyllan is a boor.” But she kept her eyes on him, missing Lavinia's abrupt change of expression. He had recovered, she saw with a twinge of relief, and was walking away. She hoped he had learned a lesson.

Roddy came up and claimed her for the country dance, and she went, losing sight of Cairnyllan and never noticing Lavinia's chagrin.

Alicia spoke no more to Cairnyllan that evening. He did not leave—she glimpsed him once or twice as the ball went on—but he stayed on the sidelines, observing, and did not dance again. She made a point of showing her enjoyment, laughing gaily at the least excuse and tossing back her silver-blond hair. But after supper, she grew rather tired of the charade, and at last she refused a dance and went to sit by Lavinia, As she did so, she noticed Marianne joining the set on Devere's arm. It was another waltz. She should speak to her, Alicia thought, to both of them, and she resolved to catch the pair when the music ended.